February 2009

February 27, 2009

Sorry for the lack of posting here, my friends. As always, LIFE has been hectic these days. However, as usual, I've got a lot of stuff on my mind that needs an outlet. Until I find some free time to write a real post, here are some cocktail napkin scribblings:

ATTACK OF THE QUEEN BEES

This
past weekend, I flew out to Utah with a few buddies for four amazing days of
skiing at Alta.

Meanwhile, BossLady and the Peanut were back in Tribeca doing the dreaded pre-school birthday party circuit. Last Sunday, they were booked for a back-to-back double header.

The first party was a blast. All of Peanut's school friends were there and the kids basically loaded up on pizza, ran around in circles, and stuffed their faces with cake.

The second party consisted of six four-year-old girls dressed up as princesses and playing with dolls. It was a really "girlie girl" party. The birthday girl is a neighbor in our building who goes to a different school so most of the girls were strangers to the Peanut.

When BossLady told me about the girl party, she practically started crying.

It turns out that, from the moment the Peanut walked into the apartment, all the girls started ostracizing her and purposefully excluded her from all their activities. These little pre-school bitches were mean, rude, and obnoxious. Even the birthday girl's parents felt bad. They tried to get the girls to play with the Peanut but there was nothing they could do. The girls continued to completely shun the Peanut. My daughter, being the well-adjusted kid that she is, took it all in stride and ended up playing with the birthday girl's brother in another room.

I've spoken to dozens of mothers who, at some point in their lives, have had their self-esteem damaged by mean girls and female bullies. Seeing their own daughters experience the same thing at such a young age often dregs up painful memories of the past. In fact, sometimes I think the whole thing is more traumatic for the mom than it is for the child!

Personally, I always had this image of little girls being made of sugar and spice. Now it seems like half of them are actually made of anthrax and aresenic. What does this growing trend of pre-school Queen Bees say about us as a society? Does it develop from a lack of parental oversight? Or is it part of the growing sense of entitlement prevalent in our culture?

Now, most of you know me as a relatively laid-back guy. However, I hate bullies of any sort and when I get pissed, I can be a real son of a bitch. I've already started plotting my revenge. I won't reveal all the details but suffice it to say, it involves eating disorders, giant tarantulas, prank phone calls, and fake birthday party invitations. I might even start applying for credit cards in these girls names.

Nobody messes with Daddy's little girl and gets away with it!

THE MANNERS NAZI (COMING SOON TO A TOWN NEAR YOU!)

As I mentioned, I had a fantastic weekend with a great group of guys. Back in our single days, we would vacation and party together all the time but, over the past decade, we all got married and had kids so it was virtually impossible to find the time.

Needless to say, fatherhood has changed all of us in ways that we could never imagine. Aside from the fact that we spent an inordinate amount of time on the trip talking about our kids, we also found ourselves acting reflexively in a manner that belies how much we've changed over the years.

Perhaps none so more than myself.

Saturday afternoon, we're all sitting in a spacious hot tub at a gorgeous spa overlooking the mountain. A stunningly beautiful woman leans over to me and asks me to pass her a towel.

My response?

I hold the towel away from her and, using the same sing-song voice I employ with my daughter, reply "What's the magic word?"

I think I can still hear the sound of my friends' howling laughter echoing off the mountain.

CONVERSATIONS FROM HELL

My Mother: How come you didn’t call us on Sunday night?

Me: The Oscars were on. Did you watch?

My Mother: We tried but we fell asleep before they started.

Me: They started at 8:00.

My
Mother: We’re old. We get tired easily. By the way, that dustbuster
you bought for us last time you were here doesn’t work.

Me: Is it plugged in?

My Mother: You have to plug it in?

Me: Aaaarggh!

MORE CONVERSATIONS FROM HELL

Me: Hey kiddo, You want some edamame?

Peanut: No. I want my mommy!

Me: Very funny. I meant, do you want these soy beans?

Peanut: Why would I want toy beads?

Me: Aaaarggh!

RETAIL THERAPY: THE METRODAD STORE FOR CHARITY

I think we all know that times are tough for everyone these days.

But
if I have to listen to my personal valet complain one more time about how
tasting my food is not "technically" in his job description, I swear to
God I'm going to club him on the head with a loofah. Look, Julio, it's
a fucking recession. We've all got to pull a little more weight around
here these days.You don't see the poolboy complaining, do you?

All kidding aside, this recession is profoundly affecting virtually
everyone I know. Nobody's job is secure. Nobody's future is guaranteed. And the palpable sense of fear is both very real and very frightening.

However, it's during times like these that I strongly feel it's even more incumbent for people to help those around us who are less fortunate. Virtually every charity or non-profit organization with which I'm involved is struggling for resources. They're having a harder time garnering donations at a time when the need for them is at an all-time high. The struggle is very real.

So, to help play my part, I've decided to launch an online store over the next few weeks. Since parenting is an important part of me (and this blog,) most of the proceeds will be donated to various children's charities around the world. I'm thinking of starting off by launching a line of baby onesies and daddy t-shirts with funny catchphrases on them.

Here's what I've got so far...

ONESIES

“Nobody puts baby in a corner.”

“Girls Gone Wild: The toddler years”

“Turd is the word”

“When I grow up, I want to be a Jedi”

“The Future of Hip Hop”

“Fight for your right to potty!”

“Crapper’s Delight”

“Straight Outta Daycare.”

“Where the potty at?”

“Me so ornery.”

DADDY T-SHIRTS

“Fatherhood is the new black”

“Eat it or wear it”

“Men who change diapers change the world.”

“Who’s yo daddy?”

“I’m not a playa. I just gush a lot.”

“I like it when you call me big poppa”

“I’m just the manny!”

Anyone got any ideas for more slogans for the online store? Leave them in the comments. Remember, it's for a good cause! Also, if you come up with any slogans with artwork, feel free to e-mail them to me. Thanks!

February 03, 2009

For the past two weeks, I’d been hyping up the Super Bowl to my daughter.

I told her how it was a magical day filled with all-you-can-eat ribs, baked beans, and more creamed corn than she could ever envision. Naturally, as she always does these days, she looked at me like I was crazy and went back to playing with her stuffed porcupine (affectionately named “Porky.”)

This past Sunday, I asked her who she wanted to win the big game. Without flinching, she turned to me and said, “Barack Obama!”

I told this story to a friend of mine this week who happens to be not only a dyed-in-the-wool NYC liberal Democrat but also a major fundraiser for Barack Obama.

She also happens to have a daughter around the same age as the Peanut.

Prior to the election, my friend was elated to hear her little daughter staunchly declaring her devotion to Barack Obama. Between home and school, everyone she knew was endorsing Obama. How could she NOT be influenced by those whom she loved?

However, after one specific conversation with her little girl, my friend realized that her daughter’s devotion to Obama was the result of more nefarious influences. She told me that, shortly thereafter, she found herself at her daughter’s pre-school declaring, “Ok, I’m not mad but I just want to know. Which one of you teachers told my daughter that if McCain is elected, he’s canceling Christmas?”

Brilliant!

Naturally, I’ve now begun making up bedtime stories about how the NY Yankees are scary monsters who hide under the bed and make little girls eat vegetables until they throw up.

Go Mets!

COOKIES ARE FOR CLOSERS!

When my daughter and I first started playing Candyland together, my natural paternal instincts were to let her win. I’d selectively shuffle the cards and purposely tank games just to see her overwhelmed by happiness. After each win, she’d jump up and down for joy, give me a giant hug, and then very earnestly shake my hand while saying, “Good game, Daddy.”

Then I realized that I wasn’t doing her any favors by letting her win. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there and it was my job to help indoctrinate her into that harsh reality.

Now, some seriously humorless individuals have criticized Candyland as a moronic game of chance, arguing that the message of the game teaches children that they are powerless, that destiny is determined by pure luck, that the only chance you have of winning lies in following the rules, and accepting the cards as they come.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we’ve found our nominee for “Sourpuss Dad of the Year.”

Are you fucking kidding me? I started playing Candyland with my daughter when she turned three. Why? Not because she couldn’t understand the rules of chess but BECAUSE SHE WAS FUCKING THREE!

I wholly side with Tom Armitage who writes, “Candyland is a great first game; literally, the very first. It teaches turn-taking. It teaches the mores, the manners, and the culture of playing boardgames. I’m totally fine with the idea of a game to teach you how to play games. After all, there are loads of games that teach you all manner of things; what’s wrong with the ideal of the first one teaching you about the medium itself?”

I couldn't agree more with that sentiment.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon, the Peanut and I had a marathon battle of Candyland. She won the first game, jumped up for joy, and yelled, “Ha ha, Daddy. I won!”

I was pretty peeved about her being a bad winner so naturally I decided to take this opportunity to impart one of my infamous parenting life lessons.

I stacked the cards in my favor and beat the Peanut in 5 straight games of Candyland. I made sure the games weren’t even close. I crushed her. After every victory, I did a touchdown celebration dance, started singing “We Are The Champions,” and gave mini-speeches praising the almighty Jesus for allowing me to be such a kick-ass Candyland player.

Proud of myself for demonstrating to my daughter how NOT to act in the face of victory, I turned to look at her to ensure that she was comprehending the full extent of the lesson.

What I saw was a little girl on the verge of tears. Her lip was quivering and she had the saddest look on her adorable face. Needless to say, my daughter’s tears are my personal kryptonite.

I immediately pulled her close to me and tightly hugged her in a warm embrace. I told her I was sorry that I acted like a jackass and that I was only trying to teach her a lesson about being a gracious winner. I also apologized for going a little overboard and told her how truly badly I felt. Was there anything I could do to cheer her up?